Poems begining by T
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The Last Memory
© Arthur Symons
When I am old, and think of the old days,
And warm my hands before a little blaze,
Having forgotten love, hope, fear, desire,
I shall see, smiling out of the pale fire,
The Cōuercyon of Swerers
© Stephen Hawes
The fruytfull sentence & the noble werkes
To our doctryne wryten in olde antyquyte
By many grete and ryght notable clerkes
Grounded on reason & hyghe auctoryte
The Old Liberators by Robert Hedin: American Life in Poetry #185 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004
© Ted Kooser
When I was a boy, there were still a few veterans of the Spanish American War, and more of The Great War, or World War I, and now all those have died and those who served in World War II are passing from us, too. Robert Hedin, a Minnesota poet, has written a fine poem about these people.
The Old Liberators
The "Coming Man"
© Anonymous
A pair of very chubby legs
Encased in scarlet hose;
A pair of little stubby boots
With rather doubtful toes;
The Love Child
© William Barnes
Where the bridge out at Woodley did stride,
Wi' his wide arches' cool sheäded bow,
To the Right Hon. My Lady Anne Lovelace
© Richard Lovelace
To the richest Treasury
That e'er fill'd ambitious eye;
The Pathfinders
© Vance Palmer
NIGHT, and a bitter sky, and strange birds crying,
The wan trees whisper and the winds make moan,
Here where in ultimate peace their bones are lying
In gaunt waste places that they made their own,
Beyond the ploughed lands where the corn is sown.
The Mirror Of Madmen
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
I dreamed a dream of heaven, white as frost,
The splendid stillness of a living host;
Vast choirs of upturned faces, line o'er line.
Then my blood froze; for every face was mine.
The Zouaves At Bethel
© Anonymous
Five Zouaves killed! - one thousand in all -
Five from a thousand? Then he may be one.
If in the havoc of bayonet and ball,
So many were killed, one may be my son.
And death, to the boy, all the glory he won.
To Me, Fair Friend, You Never Can Be Old
© William Shakespeare
To me, fair Friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyed
Such seems your beauty still, Three winters' cold
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride;
The Nine Little Goblins
© James Whitcomb Riley
They all climbed up on a high board-fence--
Nine little Goblins, with green-glass eyes--
Nine little Goblins that had no sense,
And couldn't tell coppers from cold mince pies;
And they all climbed up on the fence, and sat--
And I asked them what they were staring at.
Thomas Joseph Byrnes
© George Essex Evans
Calm be his sleep who lived to dare.
Go, say a patriot slumbers there
Whose brows were never bent to wear
His loftiest fame,
Yet wrote on Queenslands page a rare
A fadeless name!
The Trumpets Of Heaven
© Leon Gellert
A silver cry is calling from a height
Leaving the awful pause that follows song,
And through the silence shines a stretching light-
A stretching light that quietly runs along
The Childless Woman
© Harriet Monroe
O Mother of that heap of clay, so passive on your breast,
Now do you stare at death, woman, who yesterday were blest?
The East Wind Blows Over the Water
© Li Yu
The east wind blows over the water, the sun sits by the hill,
Though spring has come, the idleness persists.
The Wife A-Lost
© William Barnes
Since I noo mwore do zee your feäce,
Up steärs or down below,
I'll zit me in the lwonesome pleäce,
Where flat-bough'd beech do grow;
"`The smiling slopes with olive groves bedecked"
© Alfred Austin
`The smiling slopes with olive groves bedecked,
Now darkly green, now, as the breeze did stir,
Spectral and white, as though the air were flecked
With elfin branches laced with gossamer;
